


Sharpshooter

by Juniper_Tree



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Canon Universe, Cute, Feelings, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, mild sauce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 11:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juniper_Tree/pseuds/Juniper_Tree
Summary: Lance his trying to find his place on the team, and Keith beating him at everything is really, really not helping.





	Sharpshooter

Lance was always lagging behind Keith. Literally, this time.

The duels were Shiro’s idea. Their reflexes were sharp, but he wanted sharper. Probably because their last mission ended up with the voltron lions being shamefully outmaneuvered by some clunky-looking Galra ships. Definitely because of that. They were second-string Galrans riding around in junkyard scraps. The ships had patches of dark purple rust on the sides. Their pilots looked older, too. The worst part was that they were having _fun._ Like three dads letting loose on a fishing trip.

One ship had a broken tail wing. Also known as a vertical stabilizer (Pidge had drilled that name into his head while studying for tests at the Garrison). While it should have been an issue, the Galra inside rode the break in his dynamics like an expert surfer. Maybe he had even broken it off on purpose. He flew backwards, then thrust his engines in the opposite direction, pivoting on the instability in his craft. Flipping vertically into a perfect 180. Engines already poised to speed off in the other direction. Lance had to admit they were impressive.

The lions couldn’t make turns that quickly and cleanly. Not yet, at least. They were still pawing themselves around, contorting their torsos to try to make up time. On top of that, Team Voltron was having a bad day. Didn’t communicate. Made mistakes. There’s not much use in having the most powerful weapon in the entire universe if you have the reflexes of a potato. So, there they were, getting back to basics with a high noon, cowboy kind of flare.

Lance heard the first bell go off with a ding and he spun, a small laser gun in his hand. He was facing Pidge and waiting before she even turned around. She was fast, agile with running and moving, but she was also a thinker. A wonderful over-thinker, which probably made her better than Lance in most situations, but not at this.

The target was placed randomly on the other person. He found it quickly on her shoulder and pulled the trigger. She didn’t even get a shot off.

Lance tried not to gloat, but he was honestly proud of himself, even if it was just a training game. Lance was good at it. He was better than good. He had put extra pressure on himself recently. Feeling like he was falling behind the others, trying to find some kind of way he could be more useful. He was getting better. Standing a little less slouchy.

He was starting to notice little improvements. His weapons felt lighter, more like extensions of his arms. No, extensions of his vision. He could get into this mode sometimes, where he felt like his eyes were directing everything. Sending signals straight to his fingertips, lighting them up with tiny sensations of pressure. His hands tracked his focus, just as quickly as his eyes could dart across the targets.

He went up against Hunk next. He was used to carrying large weapons, and Lance chuckled at how awkwardly he held the small laser gun. It wasn’t dangerous in the first place, and Hunk made it seem even more like a toy. Lance turned to face away from him, put tension into his muscles, arms and legs, all of it, wound up and ready to strike.

_Ding._

They both turned quickly, but Lance reached out a steady arm and sniped the spot on Hunk’s knee. His fingers reacted to the target’s light before his brain had a chance to catch up. A reflex. At the same time he caught the flash of movement out of the corner of his vision.

“FOUR!” Hunk bellowed.

Pidge ducked to the ground as Hunk’s laser gun flew out of his hand, over her head, brushing against her hair. She laughed, “Well, at least I have good enough reflexes for _that_ ”

Hunk smiled sheepishly, waving a hand up apologetically. “Sorry Pidge, that one got away from me.”

But Keith, it _had_ to be Keith, managed to stay just the slightest, tiniest bit ahead of him. It was the worst. He was the worst, looking all smug and smiling his stupid Keith smile. Every time, Lance would turn, see Keith turning at the same time. He was _right there._

He lost the first duel against Keith. Then the second. The third. The fourth. He also lost the fifth, which was when he officially decided to stop counting. He lost again after that. And again. _Seven, if he were counting_. And again. _Eight_. Lost a few more. _Screw it._ He gritted his teeth.

On loss number twelve Lance was _painfully_ close. Keith’s focus had shifted, just a little, and he was a bit slow on his turn. So Lance watched him, zeroed in on every movement, hoping that the target would draw him in. But he couldn’t find it. Even though it had been right in the middle of his chest, glowing like a cheesy superhero costume.

Lance turned toward the sideline. Keith trailed behind, smiling slightly, showing off his teeth, white and shiny and also somehow _smug_.

“Nice try, _sharpshooter_.” Keith was smiling, a big ridiculous smile that he reserved especially for ‘Being better than Lance’ moments. Lance had never seen him look so happy. A pang of annoyance flared into Lance’s ribs and he crossed his arms. “Really, really not helpful, Keith.”

Keith settled next to Lance on the sideline. Lance could smell the faint smell of sweat coming off of him. _Smug_ -smelling. His hair looked neat, but when Lance looked closely he could see where it started to started to stick to his forehead underneath. So he was tired, at least a little bit. It was a small consolation that he was at least _trying._

After loss fourteen Shiro ended training for the day. Hunk and Pidge left quickly, chatting, but Lance lingered around, putting things away, dragging his feet.

Then Keith was still there too, hanging back for no reason at all.

Keith had started doing this _thing_ , recently. Well, Lance wouldn’t really call it a _thing_. Keith was always around before. There’s only seven of them in the same ship, how could he not be around? But he started doing this thing where he’s like, _more_ around.

Like hanging around when Lance brushes his teeth at night. Leaning on the sink, dark maroon sweatpants hung over his hips. Dragging his toothbrush absently over his teeth, like his mind is somewhere else.

He’s there when Lance cleans up dishes from dinner. Not even helping, just watching really. Sometimes talking, sometimes not. He’s just always there, _casually_. But also, not casually? Lance doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand because Keith is one step ahead of them, as usual, with Lance struggling to keep up.

“Wanna give it another try?” Keith asks. He looks like he’s gloating.

“What, fourteen wins wasn’t enough for you?” Lance grumbles.

Keith’s eyes flash, “So you were counting?”

“Nope, definitely not.”

“You’re right though, it was fourteen.”

“Don’t you have like, anywhere else to be?”

Keith pauses a second, tilting his head. “Nope.”

Lance turns away from him, starts stalking down the hallway. Keith is a different person when he’s feeling cocky. Annoying. It’s like his parents never taught him how to play on the playground. Like he’s playing games with other kids for the first time.

Wait, that can’t actually be true, right? No way. Lance looks over Keith. His eyes are all big and excited-looking, childish. There must have been other kids to play with _somewhere._ There had to be. At the orphanage, probably.

Is that where Keith grew up? An orphanage? Lance has never even seen an orphanage and he has trouble picturing Keith there. Scrubbing floors and sleeping on hay and whatever.

Wait, no--they probably don’t sleep on hay. Right? That sounds ridiculous, and now that Lance thinks about it he’s pretty sure that’s what his older sister told him once. Which makes it definitely a lie. 

Lance frowns, thinking about how little he actually knows about Keith. His history is a sort of taboo. They all know the main plot points, the orphan-ing, the Garrison, the part where Keith went and lived like some sort of wild-animal hermit person. They just never asked more details. Assumed that Keith didn’t have more details he wanted to share.

Whatever, Lance isn’t having any of this “pity” stuff today, and it seems like Keith is doing just fine without it. He’s still bouncing on his toes in front of him, celebrating internally. Watching him brings back a wave of annoyance through Lance.

“Where are you going now?” Keith asks.

Lance rolls his head to the side. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Then what?” Keith is following him, almost catching the heels of Lance’s feet with the toe of his shoes. The closeness is oppressive, and Lance considers kicking him in the shin.

Instead Lance spins, “What is this?” His voice is raised, sounding a little more angry than he meant to be. It’s been a long day. He motions his arms forward, gesturing towards Keith.

“What is what?” Keith stares, expression forcibly neutral, like he’s trying to hide something.

“ _C’mon,_ Keith. What are you doing, with all of this hanging around. It’s weird. And annoying”

Keith’s eyes squint. “Is it annoying?”

“Uhh, yes, definitely.”

“Because I shot a laser better?”

“Yes, Jesus, Keith, what do you want from me? Yes, it’s annoying because I spent months at the academy trying to escape legendary pilot Keith. And now I’m here, trying to be a good teammate but you- you’re just-” Lance sucks in air through his teeth “You’re just better than me, okay? So shut up about it.”

Keith’s eyes soften and he tilts his head. It’s something else Keith has been doing when he’s been _around_ so much. Something else that Lance hasn’t figured out.

“Lance, you’re unbelievable.”

Lance isn’t sure what he means. Because those aren’t necessarily nice words but he said it nicely. Keith is trying to be nice. Maybe. His eyes look dark and genuine and they’re just staring at him and Lance lets out a groan because he’s a thousand more steps behind.

He doesn’t get it. How can Keith be so, so infuriating and then be comfortable and considerate and _around._ Lance is tired of being behind, tired of drowning in Keith’s wake. He wants to get ahead because he’s irritated and confused. And over it, he decides.

Lance wants to shove him. To grab him by the shoulders and ask him why he is so absolutely infuriating. So he does. Keith’s eyes widen when his back thumps against the wall.

Then Lance is moving again, suddenly catching up all at once. Closing the gap between him and Keith. He just wants to be on the same page, for once, whatever that means. Except… except it’s all too fast and Lance is moving before he realizes what catching up actually means. The pull in his gut he had identified as anger swells up, consuming his motions, the gripping of his hands and the tightness in his throat.

That’s when he realizes it’s not anger, it’s this whole other _thing_ , and he’s more surprised, definitely way more surprised than Keith when he plants his mouth, tense and soft all at the same time, against Keith’s. His fingers dig into Keith’s hair, pressing into the slight dampness of sweat against his neck.

He pulls back suddenly, shocked, and sees Keith grinning back at him. He looks smug again, like he expected it the whole time. _Of course._ Lance is frozen, still pinning Keith against the wall, breathing hard.

“ _Damn_ , sharpshooter.” Keith looks amused. His cheeks push up, making little wrinkles under his eyes.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Lance is on edge, still trying to understand what he’s doing. Why he’s inches away from Keith’s face. Why his fingers are spinning around the ends of Keith’s hair.

Keith tilts his chin down slightly. “Wanna know a secret?”

Lance sighs, trying for easy-going. “Whatever.”

“You were faster, on the duels today.” Keith is biting his lip again, the same way he does when he’s pulling a trigger. Small white teeth pushing into pink skin.

“What? No I wasn’t.”

Keith swallows, nods. “You were, except you couldn’t stop staring at me.”

“You were the target.”

Keith laughs, “Yeah, but you were staring at _me_.”

Lance feels heat rush into his cheeks, all the way up to his ears. Keith is right. Lance's mouth pauses on an "oh" as he replays the duels in his head. He remembers the way Keith’s hair spun out as he turned. Remembers the way Keith was biting his lip, just a little bit, when he pulled the trigger. The way his arms moved, tight and precise. How he folded his fingers over each other along the gun. He can remember so many details but he can’t seem to remember a single one of the stupid target locations. It’s all a blur of Keith’s face, his arms, his mouth. And Lance had been _staring._

Lance smiles, finally. Keith looks pleased, hiding his teeth behind a small upturn in his lips.

Lance steps back, rubs a hand around the back of his neck. “I-uh, I guess you’re right.” Lance says sheepishly.

Keith grins and starts walking again. “Always am.”

Lance pauses a second, watches Keith stroll down the hallway. His shoulders are tensed a bit, excited-looking, maybe. Lance sighs. He doesn’t know for sure, but it seems like Keith has a plan. And maybe that plan includes him.

Keith turns, cleanly and tightly, just like Lance has seen so many times today. “So are you coming with me or not?”

Lance swears he hates following in Keith’s footsteps, always running after him, always late to catch up. There’s just something about the way Keith always checks on him. Pays attention. Notes little bits of progress.

Maybe Lance will always be watching Keith from behind. Like this. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Lance shakes his head, still stuck in disbelief, but his feet move on instinct and fall into a familiar rhythm behind Keith’s.

“Yeah, I’m right behind you.”


End file.
